Shouts someone, “The Amrikans are coming.”
With an escort of armed police the four lawyers arrive at the courthouse.
Will they really feign surprise? What? the hearing’s been postponed, well I never, who’d have thought it? The cops, knowing the mood and quality of the crowd, are not keen for the lawyers to leave their car, and once they’re out are anxious to hustle them back in, but it’s too late. They are surrounded by a gang of jarnaliss from the Khaufpur Gazette, Doordrishti etc., shouting questions. “Why is the hearing postponed?” “Has a deal been agreed?”
“We’re here to offer generous humanitarian aid to the people of Khaufpur,” says the buffalo.
“Are charges against the Kampani being dropped?”
“NO DEAL! NO DEAL!” Sound of a crowd working itself into a rage.
“Will you clean the factory?”
“Where are your clients? Where are the accused executives?”
“We’re confident that all outstanding issues will be resolved.”
“NO DEAL! NO DEAL! NO DEAL!”
“How much will the compensation be?” “What is your agreement with the government?” “Did you know the hearing would be cancelled?”
“NO DEAL! NO DEAL, NO DEAL!”
“Say again, quite a bit of noise going on here.”
Hear O paltaniyas, learn wisdom. You can shrill and cry as much as you want. You can scream in their fucking ears, still you will not be heard.
“When will the agreement be signed? Days? Weeks? Months?”
“Can’t be too soon for me,” says the buffalo. “I’m missing home. I have two Italian greyhounds. They sleep on my bed.”
An old woman hobbles forward out of the crowd, it’s Gargi, whose back is almost as bent as mine. “Mr. Lawyer, we lived in the shadow of your factory, you told us you were making medicine for the fields. You were making poisons to kill insects, but you killed us instead. I would like to ask, was there ever much difference, to you?”
So the buffalo asks what she is saying and a jarnalis standing nearby says, “I don’t know how to translate it.”
Then Gargi says that if the Kampani has any honour it must stand trial, and it should pay just and proper compensation for all the wrongs it has done.
“What’s she saying now?” the lawyer asks.
“Sir,” says the jarnalis, “she is asking for money.”
The buffalo reaches in his red-lined coat, gets out his wallet. “Buy yourself something nice,” he says. Old Gargi’s standing there with five hundred rupees in her hand.
“Mr. Musisin, how do you justify what you do?” asks a voice that comes from a creature not of this world. It’s Zafar, propped between two friends. His face is sunken, he has not taken a drop of water.
The lawyer knows who Zafar is. The smile on his face grows broad.
“Hey, Zafar,” he says. “When you get to my age and you have two Italian greyhounds and you’ve read as many books as I have, and have as many friends among lawyers and judges, and have won as many cases, you don’t have to spend time justifying yourself.”
“He won’t let me see him. You must go, Animal. Tell him I love him, if he dies I will die too. Remind him of all the reasons there are for him to live.”
“He can’t die.” Zafar is invincible, untouchable, immortal.
“Animal, I’m afraid. Elli says he’s weak from his stomach upsets. He has forbidden her for her own safety to go to him.”
A huge stone slides in my bowels. I have done this, if he dies it’ll be my fault. I’ll go to him and say, Zafar stop this fucking nonsense, take some milk, take a little kheer. Meanwhile I’ll pray, “Gods of fate, or whatever, if you exist you know Zafar’s a marked man, one day some Kampani hitman is sure to take his life. For love’s sake I made one stupid mistake don’t make me his fucking murderer.”
Bhoora Khan returns empty-handed from Huriya’s place. Although Aliya’s still burning up, the old people say they can no longer take her to Elli.
“Who says you can’t?” Bhoora argued with them. “Zafar brother would want Aliya to take treatment.”
“People say Zafar brother is dying. We cannot go.”
So then I know that this time the people will not come back. Elli’s dream is finished and so is mine.
Seven days without water. Even Zafar knows it’s over. He has to give up now or he will die. His body is failing, he is so weak, he can no longer stand. His eyesight is blurring. He whispers, “Animal, is it you?”
I put my mouth right next to his ear, “Speak brother, I am here.”
In that moment I love him utterly and know it will break my heart if he goes, plus I feel Nisha’s love within me like a torrent.
“I’m okay,” he lies, his breath is rasping. “Who wouldn’t feel weak after a week without water? There’s a stove in my chest. I’m burning inside. When I wash my face I feel tempted to take a sip. When I see someone drinking water my heart whispers let’s have just a little drink. But then I think, if I drink what will happen to our struggle?”
“How is Farouq?” I ask, seeing my archenemy lying there on the rug. I feel pity even for him.
“Farouq has the Upstairs One,” he says. “He gets strength from that. Me, I won’t ask god to help, but I get strength from my friends. Like you, Animal, bastard.” He manages a faint smile. “Such a bloody idiot you are, did you never realise that datura is an aphrodisiac?”
“What, you felt the urge?”
“What else?” says he. “Am I not human?”
He lies back, someone places a cushion under his head. They are there waiting with frosted bottles, trying to tempt him with the cool water, heedless are they of the agony it causes him, they are trying to break his will and save his life, but still he will not drink. “Animal, ask Somraj to come and see me. Take good care of yourself, mate. Best as you are able, look after Nisha.”
“We’re going to win,” I tell him. Almost I am in tears. “I’m confident we will win. Listen you bastard, listen, you darling cunt of a man, we are going to win.”
I am smiling at him through my tears, and trying to hold in my mind the vision of a world in which the power of nothing has swept away the Kampani and all the evil and cruel things are no more. Come, you power of nothing, if ever there was a time for you to show yourself it’s now, it’s now. Whatever he had, this man has given. Nothing more has he to give, except his life, and soon there will be nothing left of Zafar. Never has his power been greater than at this moment. The Nautapa is flaring out of his body, his breath is like flames. One breath from Zafar could set the world on fire.
How long do I sit there, beside the man who is going? An hour maybe, two, time has no meaning. My head is full of thoughts that circle like pigeons, always coming back to the same roost. On Zafar’s face is an expression that is filled with peace, as if he has resolved all his struggles.
What is this thing called dying? Saying goodbye, letting go, one by one, of memories and sensations, the last time one ever thinks of cloves, or ginger, or green silk, or the white etawa bird. All the things that make up life, let them go one by one, until there is only now and here, the colours on the wall of the tent, that blur of light, voices…let all that too go.
“Zafar, my brother, I once heard you say something beautiful. You said, jahã jaan hai, jahaan hai.” We have the world, while we still have life.
“Fucking romantic.” These are the last words I hear him speak.
A great noise begins outside. “The factory,” voices are shouting. “They’re beating people! We must all go there.”